


How to Act

by AugustIsComing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Acting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, No Plot/Plotless, PWP, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustIsComing/pseuds/AugustIsComing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is just oh-so-impressed by Sherlock's acting skills. And they have free time. And Sherlock offers an acting class. How could John decline, if he didn't even want to?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Act

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo. Hello.  
> I always loved how Sherlock is a good actor.  
> I just... It awes me very much, for some unkown reason.  
> So I decided that John would be amazed too. And here we are. \o/  
> I hope you enjoy your reading.

John watched as Sherlock Holmes embodied a whole new person.  
Tears were dripping from his eyes, and even Dr. Watson was beginning to believe his acting.  
“Please, Ms. Johnson! Aaron and I went to college together! You have to believe me.”  
“Oh, dear, I really don’t know who the last girl he was dating was!”  
“Of course you do!” Sherlock’s voice was a little rougher now, and John thought he was finally demonstrating some of his real frustration. “That little bitch. She was blonde, wasn’t she? He chose a little blonde girl over me!” …And no, he wasn’t.  
John let his mind wonder, while Sherlock kept on acting.  
A 24-year-old college guy had been murdered, and Sherlock was sure it was a woman, and that she was probably either his lover, or his ex-girlfriend.  
John couldn’t help but be marvelled by the way Sherlock had such good acting skills.  
But he knew being marvelled by any kind of skills Sherlock had was just stupidity.  
The man was good at almost everything.  
Okay, maybe social contact was kind of a gap, but still.  
Suddenly, Sherlock turned his face, staring at him, making John realize he was staring first.  
“Okay, John, I got what I need. Let’s go. You’re thinking too loud anyway.”  
They made their way to Lestrade, and Sherlock gave him two women names.  
“You’re not going after them?” Lestrade asked, surprised.  
“Nah. They’re a two. I’m going to go home, and grab a cuppa. Call me if you have a…” he stopped, pretending to think. “At least a five, please, Lestrade. I’m freezing.”  
Greg seemed to be thinking of something to retort, but John looked at him, as if saying “you know it’s not worth it.”  
Finally, Lestrade sighed and John had to half walk, half run to keep pace with Sherlock.  
“Why are you giving this up, Sherlock? We have nothing to do at home.”  
“We’ll find something, John. Don’t whine.”  
“I’m not whining.” But he sure was being too defensive.  
“Shh, John. Call the taxi, will ya?”  
John snarled, calling the next cab that passed by.  
The silence was beginning to feel awkward, so John decided to play the fat penguin.  
“So…” he cleared his throat. “Did you ever take acting classes?”  
Sherlock looked at him, at first seeming almost surprised by the subject, and then, half a second later, it was like he knew where it came from.  
“Oh. No.” he laughed. “I just pay very much attention, John. That way, I know what to do, and when do it.”  
“I’d like to know how to act like that.”  
It was Sherlock’s time to clear his throat, sounding almost careful, as he asked: “Would you like to take classes? I mean. With me?”  
This was the closest John had ever seen Sherlock being to stutter, and he looked at the other man’s face, watching for any trace of humour.  
“Hm. Yeah. Sure.”  
Sherlock’s smile was big and wild, talking all of his face, in an almost comic way. John realized he liked that smile.  
“There it is, dear Watson. We found something to do. I told you we would.”  
John rolled his eyes, thinking what a know-it-all prat Sherlock was, while the last started to look for something in his mobile phone.  
The rest of the little journey home was silent, the only noise coming from Sherlock’s non-stop typing.  
By the time the cab turned into Baker Street, the detective had put the mobile down, and a big grin was spread all over his face.  
They walk in the apartment and John summons tea for both of them while Sherlock is moving things in the living room, and John does not know the reason, but he’s learnt not to question anything Sherlock Holmes do.  
He may be a mad man, but he sure as hell is also brilliant, as John has come to understand, so he just sits on one of the chairs Sherlock has already replaced, and watches.  
From his point of view, being 13 centimetres shorter than the consulting detective, Sherlock looks lean and tall and gorgeous.  
Too lean and tall and gorgeous.  
John was always pretty sure about his own sexuality, until he began to live with Sherlock Holmes.  
Because Sherlock would walk around with only a sheet wrapped to his body, which would show the perfect shape of his bum, and, sometimes, even a glimpse of the hairless flesh of his chest.  
The army doctor was not made of steel, after all, and Sherlock, the cases and work would demand all of his time, so relationships were risked out of his to-do list. But he still _felt_ and exposed skin is exposed skin, no matter whom it belongs to.  
“John. Let’s go.” Says Sherlock, finally stopping fussing around the room.  
“Where?” asks John, looking at him confused, emerging from his thoughts.  
“Let’s go have acting classes.” Says Sherlock, as if it was obvious because of what he was doing before mentioning it.  
“That’s what the reform is about?”  
The detective doesn’t even answer, rolling his eyes impatiently, and finally, John gets up.  
“Okay, John, first thing you should know: you have a big advantage, because you were a soldier, and that’s supposed to make you know how to show no emotion. Stare at me blankly, John, please.”  
John let out a little laugh, but did his best to do as Sherlock said.  
“You see, John, the best actors are the ones who can show any emotion by showing no emotion at all.” Sherlock’s voice was low, and the doctor liked how he looked, so drained by what he was doing, so focused on John.  
It was always pleasing to see Sherlock concentrate, but being the target to such deep stare was, somehow, kind of even more appealing.  
“A blank face can be the first step to any other expression.”  
And then, out of nowhere, Sherlock smiled, and he seemed so happy. And then he was sad, and a tear escaped from his right eye. And then he was mad, and happy again, and excited and…  
John began to laugh of the faces and expressions Sherlock was putting on, and Sherlock couldn't help but join him.  
The consulting detective quit laughing as John slowly did the same.  
“Now let’s try a play, shall we?”  
John just nodded, and Sherlock shoved his own phone in John’s hand.  
The doctor read the first lines of the scene quickly.  
“Who am I?” he asked, noticing that the names of the characters were Martin and Benedict.  
“Martin.” Sherlock said, looking very proud of himself.  
“Did you… Did you write this?”  
“Yes. Now let’s move on with this, John.”  
The army doctor cleared his throat, and did his best to “look upset”, as Sherlock had typed.  
“Ben, what the hell is going on?”  
“We’re having a party today, Martin.” answered Sherlock, seeming to know the words by heart.  
“Oh, no, we’re not!” _this is easy_ , John thought. He knew how to be upset with Sherlock doing things he didn’t like or approve.  
“Of course we are! I even called Amanda and Tom!”  
Oh. John didn’t really know if he liked where this is going. Because now he’s supposed to look “secretly jealous”.  
“I don’t want to spend the night with Amanda. And even less I want to see your filthy boyfriend.”  
“He’s my ex-boyfriend, Martin.”  
Sherlock takes a step closer, and he’s now too close, just as he’d written “Benedict” would be.  
“W-well. You seem to want to change this situation. I’m not doing the same with Amanda.” The stutter in John’s voice is pretty real, he notices, a little bit too aware of Sherlock’s presence.  
“I saw you with her yesterday, Martin. You two were looking pretty much together.”  
John tried to ignore the shiver that this particular line brought him, as he remembered that yesterday, Sherlock had busted him and Sarah hugging.  
“It’s not what you’re thinking, you stupid prat! She was telling me that she’s moving!”  
Sherlock was answering as John had just scrolled to the bottom of the file, and read the words “Benedict takes Martin face in his hands and kisses him.”  
Kisses him. Sherlock had written this. Sherlock.  
“I’m not a prat!” if he moves closer now, they would kiss, because John is looking up into his eyes, and can’t really move his gaze.  
“Of course you are, Sherlock.” John says weakly, their breath hitting each other's faces, and he hopes Sherlock gets the hint.  
And, of course, the consulting detective does, and he's kissing him, getting it just right.  
His soft lips were so warm, and so good and John had longed for it for so, so long.  
He lets go of a small noise from the back of his throat, and Sherlock smiles into the kiss.  
His hands are now all over the dark curls of Sherlock’s hair. He dreamt of doing such thing, yet they were a lot better than he ever dreamt of, and that’s saying something.  
Sherlock’s long fingers are cupping his face, his thumbs caressing John’s cheeks, and John wants to melt in Sherlock’s arms, and he wants Sherlock to melt in his, so they can become just one big mess, a mix of touches and sensations.  
John pulls on Sherlock’s hair, dragging him closer, and the kiss is now so deep, they can’t even break for air.  
John gasps, opening his mouth, and Sherlock joins his tongue with his, and it’s so overwhelming to have him so close, so hot, so his, John is getting hard in his pants.  
The younger man spins them around, and pulls John onto the sofa, coming after him, enveloping the smaller body with his.  
John feels surrounded in a good way, as if Sherlock were everywhere, touching every inch of his body, even though he knows that’s not really possible.  
A sigh escapes his lips, as Sherlock nests his head on the crook of his neck, allowing them both to finally regain their breath.  
He buries his own face in Sherlock’s hair, embracing the taller man’s shoulders with his arms, and letting his smell invade his nostrils.  
“You planed this.”  
It’s not a question, but Sherlock chuckles lightly. Sherlock! _Chuckling!_  
“Well. I noticed your looks over me, John Watson.” He kisses the patch of skin under John's ear. “And I’d lie if I said I didn’t reciprocate the feeling.”  
John smirks raising his head until his mouth is on Sherlock’s ear and says provocatively: “Well, tell me then, Sherlock Holmes: this blinding desire of having you inside me, is this another feeling you reciprocate?”  
Sherlock stiffs, and gasps abruptly, as if his lungs suddenly need more air.  
“Yes.”  
It’s a simple word, John knows. But the way it leaves Sherlock’s mouth, low and husky, so truthful, brings a shiver down his spine, and gives his member a painful twitch.  
“Oh”, he manages to breath out, and suddenly Sherlock’s mouth is all over his once more, teeth crashing, their bodies rocking against each other, hands pulling at clothes and hair.  
When John is able to think again, they are both completely naked, and Sherlock’s long fingers are reaching for the lube tube he hid under the sofa, and he doesn't bother to ask when did he put it there, because Sherlock’s long (and now properly coated in the thick liquid) fingers are reaching for his arse and one of them slides in him.  
Sherlock doesn't have to move much to hit his prostate and, as he adds the second finger, John’s penis starts to leak pre come, while his body spasms and his mouth lets go of weak strangled sounds.  
The taller man adds yet another finger, and scissors all three of them, smiling devilishly as John moans, pulling closer, rolling his hips on circles, clenching the tight ring of muscles around Sherlock’s fingers, making him moan as well, while leaning closer to kiss John’s lips.  
“Sher… Sherl… Please.” John finally manages to cry out, and Sherlock reaches for the lube again.  
He prepares himself for John, and positions his body just on the right place.  
But as John looks up at Sherlock, he sees worry in his eyes, and the brunette seems very tense.  
“Sherlock?” he asks breathlessly.  
“Hm, John?”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“You see, John…” the dark haired man starts, drawing patterns on John’s shoulder with one of his fingers, while the other hand steads him on place. “I’ve never… I've never really done this before.”  
“Oh.” John let’s out. Of course. He should have known. But… Sherlock seemed to know what he was doing.  
 _The fact that he knows what to do, doesn’t mean he’s done it before_ , John thinks to himself. Sherlock is Sherlock. He probably looked for it on the internet.  
John lets out a patient sigh, as he orders “Sit down, you prat.”  
Sherlock gets off him and sits on the couch, looking very much like a child his mum caught doing a wrong thing. John comes after him, and sits on his lap, putting his hands on his shoulders and massaging him lightly, sometimes depositing light kisses here and there.  
“Sherlock. You've gotta know this won’t hurt me, or you.”  
“I know it won’t hurt me John.” He looks away. “But what if I hurt you?”  
“I said it won’t hurt me, Sherlock. You prepared me very well.” He drops a peck on Sherlock’s forehead, over a big amount of sweat and curly dark hair. “I mean… It may hurt a little, because… Well, I’ve never done this with a man.”  
He takes a deep breath and clears his throat before continuing.  
“But it won’t hurt seriously. It will give me pleasure.” He gets closer, rocking himself a little bit against Sherlock’s erect shaft. “I want this very bad, for long enough. But if you don’t want to go any further, I won’t force you, ever.” John digs his head on the gap between Sherlock’s shoulder and head, breathing in his musky smell. “Your virginity is something I don’t deserve to take. It’s pure and clean, and if you give it to me, it will be a big honour. But I’m not worthy of it.”  
Sherlock’s arms curl around John, pulling him in even closer to his chest, and his head rests on top of the blonde one.  
“You are, my dear Watson. Even though the concept of virginity was created by the Catholic church to scare young girls and boost the egos of young boys.”  
John looks up into Sherlock’s eyes which are now painted in some beautiful colour, a breathtaking mix of dark grey and light green with a small smile, just a twitch of the corner of his lips, keeping in the fit of laughter he was about to explode in, kissing his lovers lips in silent thankfulness. He was just... Unbelievable.  
“Please, then, Sherlock. Take me. I’m yours.”  
The words seem to wake something inside the younger man, and his hands run up and down John’s back as he kisses him, until they finally rest on John’s waist and he breaks the kiss in order to clear his throat, before saying shyly.  
“I- Could you-” Sherlock looks away, and he is blushing. _Blushing._ “Could you, please, help me? I mean… Show me what to do, so I won’t hurt you.”  
John bites his lower lip and nods, before raising his body on his knees, steadying himself by holding Sherlock’s shoulder in one of his hands.  
The other hand takes Sherlock’s cock, and positions it on his entrance.  
His lips snap open as he slowly lowers his body on the member under him, and now both his hands are on Sherlock’s shoulders, holding tightly, as his body is torn between feeling extreme pain and heavenly pleasure.  
When he gets to the base, Sherlock fully in his body, he stays very still.  
“A-are you okay?” Sherlock asks, his voice cracking, his hands pressing John’s waist a little too tightly, but in that moment none of them realizes. In fact, John will only notice it the morning after, when there will be perfect purple imprints of the consulting detective's digits on his skin.  
“Yeah.” John breaths out slowly, and moves his hips in circles experimentally, causing Sherlock to gasp loudly. “In fact… I’m grand.” he smiles and kisses Sherlock hungrily.  
They begin to move, Sherlock raising his hips and John meeting him halfway through, the younger man’s inexperience completely forgotten as he pounds in and out of John, sometimes hard and quickly, sometimes sweet and slowly.  
Finally, Sherlock manages to brush against his prostate, and John screams in pleasure.  
Once, twice… The third time John loses it and comes on his and Sherlock’s chest, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his hole clenching around Sherlock so tightly the taller man comes right after, screaming John’s name.  
They hold on to each other, pants becoming slow, tired breathes, still connected and not really planning on tearing apart.  
Sherlock lays them both on the couch, but it’s too small and uncomfortable and they end up giving up and heading to Sherlock’s room.  
They sleepily put on their pants, and lay underneath the covers.  
John nuzzles Sherlock’s shoulder, and the consulting detective curls around the shorter man, interlacing their legs.  
“Didn’t take you for a cuddler…” John whispers lowly but humorously.  
“Shush.” Sherlock demands, hiding his face on the crook of John’s neck.  
“Yeah.” The other man agrees, breathing in Sherlock’s scent happily.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again!  
> Pleeease let me know what you thought of it!  
> And if you see any mistake, please let me know. I'm brazilian, and my english is not perfect.  
> ♥ Goodbye.


End file.
